Forest of the Dead
by knifethrower11
Summary: Everyone has a story. A loved one. A past. A life beyond what Katniss and Peeta observed. This is for all the overlooked, and even unnamed characters who were more than just a piece in the games. Even if no one knew it.
1. Marvel

_Everyone has a story. A loved one. A past. This is for all the characters that were fillers. The ones we forgot, too caught up in the story of Katniss and Peeta to even give some of them a name. _

**District One**

_**Marvel**_

My father wasn't proud of me until the last two weeks of my life. To him I was a disgrace, nothing but a deadweight dragging our family down from the pedestal we had built for ourselves.

His grandfather had been a Victor, bringing pride to the last name Adams, and status to our lowly District One family. Schroder Adams was revered for his bravery, looks, and incline to kill. But me, I was never like that.

I had always been more content to sit in the old clock tower, the pride of our district, surrounded by my only friends: books. It was my uncle who was supposed to renew our rank in the world, earn us another polished house in the overpopulated Victor's Village, put another Adams' back onto the map.

But at eighteen, after thirteen years of preparation for the moment that was supposed to be his for the taking, he faltered. It was only a second of hesitation, as a fifteen year old girl stared him down from a floating piece of rock three feet away, and he lowered his sword.

Giving her just enough time to throw off his balance, dooming him to a sea of molten lava, where he would burn and drown at the same time.

By that time my father was no longer of reaping age. So it was to be his son. Me. I hardly tipped the scale when I was born, and I grew to be a lanky boy, all angles. Never the meaty slab of raw muscle I was supposed to be. My father saw the mistakes in me before I even had a chance to live.

So they kept trying. And five daughters later my mother gave out, dying of blood loss with her youngest girl cocooned in her arms. My littlest sister, Gem. I was twelve at the time, leaving her a mere six when I finished my endless hours of training. The only thing I was ever good with was a spear, the one weapon I could lift and wield, and that was the only thing I had going for me when I mounted the stage.

That and my last name, which had disintegrated into nothing but a topic of conversation for Caesar Flickerman to shed light on during my interview. Of course, I was convinced the name was cursed, courtesy of my dear Uncle Sheer.

The Adams' were never meant to be killers, with the exception of Schroder, who, upon further investigation, was mentally ill. Surprise, surprise.

The only time my father ever smiled at me was when I was leaving, the last time I would see him. Gem was clinging to my calves, and I was desperately trying to quell her rising hysteria by promising to buy her all the cookies she could ever eat when I returned. Triple Dutch fudge, if she wanted.

Her tiny little eyes had widened in surprise, as _no one _could afford to buy Triple Dutch Fudge except the insanely wealthy. And, instead of smiling at the fact that his little girl would be happy in a sugary heaven, he smiled at the fact that I had resolved to win.

His last words to me were, "Make us proud boy. This family could use a winner, and it looks like the honor goes to you."

Not exactly what you want to hear when going into a death match, but I suppose it beats nothing. I'd like to think my mother would've said something nicer, but in truth, she was no better than him.

With his parting words, I was whisked away. Never to see Gem or any of my other sisters again.

And when I stood there, spear in hand, covered in dried blood and staring at the tiny little girl trapped in my net all I could think was: Gem. This child was so short, and Gem was so tall. They were nearly the same size. Except for one thing. Gem was home watching her big brother on TV, whereas this puny wisp of a girl was inches from imminent death.

I almost walked away, comparing her to Gem. But I suppose, in the end, that's what kept me there. If I bowed out and walked away someone would know. And I would never return to the real Gem. The Gem who was still waiting for her Triple Dutch Fudge cookies.

Knowing I could make her death painless and nearly instant, while eliminating one more tribute and bringing myself closer to home, I threw the spear. And the throw was as accurate as ever. I never anticipated Katniss, though I suppose I should've, considering the little girl was wailing her name over and over.

But I didn't. Nor did I register the arrow making a beeline for my neck.

The wrong thing to do was pull it out. But I didn't want to prolong it any longer. So I died with the word 'sorry' bleeding from my lips.

I'm not sure who I was saying it too: Rue, Gem, or my sisters. But I do know that I was not saying it to my father.

I could never apologize for ruining the thing he forced upon me. I could never be sorry for being who I was. I could never feel shame for bringing more disgrace to the Adam's name. And I could never regret anything I did.

How can you regret, when you're dead?


	2. Glimmer

**District One**

_**Glimmer**_

No one ever expected anything great of me. I was just the pretty girl, destined to marry the rich man and produce beautiful, rich children. But I never wanted any of that.

I didn't want Ellsworth, the most eligible bachelor in town, and I didn't want any little golden-haired children left for my tending. I was always fighting for my right to be independent. My sister Shimmer had married off three years before I volunteered for the games, at a mere nineteen years old.

She was the pride and joy of my mother's eyes. And I was to be her next jewel, next daughter to parade around town, showing off the shiny rock resting on my finger.

As I form of defiance I had been training for years, as more of a hobby than anything, though no one ever bothered to teach me. Nothing was to come of it, as it was just to spite my mother and Shimmer.

I was a lost cause, never going to the games. So they thought.

But when Ellsworth led me to the clock tower at sunset and dropped down on one knee I knew. Knew that I would rather die than be trapped in a life I didn't want. A life of endless days and never ending responsibilities for things I had never asked for.

It was one thing to care for something you wanted. But to have it forced upon you was a completely different subject, in uncharted territory.

At that point the reaping was a halting one week away, but my mind was made up. So when they asked for volunteers, I rushed to it without a moment's hesitation. Many were horrified, but I was impassive throughout the whole ordeal, keeping my gaze locked on my mother.

She glared, tears glistening, un-fallen, in her sharp green eyes. She never came to visit me. Shimmer did, but more out of pity than anything else, for my father had died when I was an infant and she felt that it was only proper to have some family there.

Ellsworth came after her, though no words her spoken, and a deep curtain of sorrow shrouded the air surrounding him. I could feel nothing but a dark form of weightlessness, propelling me away from the one thing I feared most.

After all, I had no intention of winning. Coming home and producing even richer, more beautiful babies.

That was out of the question. I was to lose, and to lose quickly.

When they took the ring, with the poisonous spike in it, I was more relieved than anything. I had never known it was in there, though I suspect Ellsworth did. Probably another silly form of protection he had been trying to force of me for years. Pepper spray, switch blades, etc.

I dropped it into the peacekeepers hand and let it go without a second glance. The weight was gone.

In the games themselves, I woke to the sound of a serrated blade being dragged across a suspended tree branch, from high above. Knowing what she was doing, I stayed still.

Though I did my best to subtly rouse the others from sleep, Peeta first, the rest not far behind. The only one who woke fully was Peeta, and he was on his feet before the nest skimmed the leaf-covered ground.

The others didn't take long, scrambling and running for their lives. But I lay still as the swarm overpowered me, pretending to be too far in sleep to escape.

Though I couldn't help the screams that ripped from my raw throat, still burning from the flames the previous night. It hurt like nothing I had ever felt. When my vision began to shift and fade I willed myself to death, thinking of an old lullaby my sister had sung to me as a toddler.

I died with her face flashing before my eyelids. Not Ellsworth, the man I was supposed to be in love with. Not my mother, who had caused all this to begin with. Not my father, who I was deprived of knowing.

My sister. Who accepted an unwanted fate more willingly that I could've dreamed of. In my mind, walking into something she didn't want was braver than leaving it all behind for a death match.

The pride and joy of our family on all aspects.


	3. Cashmere

**District One**

_**Cashmere**_

I was only seventeen when my trainer deemed me fit for the games. The star pupil of his class, no one was minutely surprised when reports came out with my name at the top of the list. Not _just anybody _could volunteer, unless they had some prior arrangement with the administrators. Relatives of previous Victors can do whatever it is that they want, whether they're decent or not.

As long as the game is interesting and the honor beseeched onto our district. The games are the most important thing in our world.

And just like all the rest, I let them get the best of me. Little Miss Cashmere with her shiny blonde hair, daring green eyes, and killer ferocity was prepared for the games. No better than the rest, that's for sure. I was no better than them, shiny blonde hair and all.

My brother, sixteen at the time, looked on with a disgusted contempt, though there was a twisted form of envy hiding behind his permanent scowl. I had ignored him; per usual, skipping into the sweet air swirling around the cobblestone streets of District One.

Four weeks later I was on my way to the reaping, donning a low cut white dress with a golden sash (the mark of a volunteer) tied around my waist. My district partner Glorian was wearing a gold tie as his adornment. A true career, he smiled at me as our escort flounced across the stage.

I grinned broadly back at him, too young to understand what I was getting myself into.

And when I killed him with his own knife, I grinned just as broadly. After all, it's what made me a victor- murdering Glorian. How could I not smile?

I was happy for a little while, basking in my newfound wealth and status. But Snow put an end to that after my first two months. From there on out it was an endless nightmare of 'Capital Business.' At first I refused him, but as soon as he brought up Gloss, and implied that he would do the same thing to him that he did to Haymitch Abernathy's family, I complied.

It was a scar I would always wear on my heart. And it re-opened the moment my little brother volunteered the year after I did. I watched as he pillaged the arena, burying his daggers into anyone that happened to get in his way.

I saw his fate as it played out, the same as mine, yet so much worse. He was my little brother, and while it was inevitable that he would volunteer, some part of me hoped he never made it out of the arena. Hoped he was never subjected to the same things I was.

My hopes were ignored. And when he won, when he got the same message from Snow I had, I saw him deteriorate with my own eyes.

I saw the spirit drain from him each time we were called away on 'Capital Business.'

It was all a pattern, a route each of the desirable Victors were forced to take. And the pattern never broke, almost like a tradition- until Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark.

They were the most desirable of us all, with the exception of Finnick Odair, and I was sure whichever one came out alive would join us in a never ending circle of 'Capital Business.' But they cheated the system, the whole games.

Coming out alive together and showing themselves off as a pair. In the Capital, a sea of heartless romantics in need of a cheap ploy to entertain their fantasies with, it worked perfectly. No one would dare to break them up, separate their pure young love.

I could hardly stand to be in the same room as them, as her. She had achieved what the rest of us had never thought a possibility, and we were forced to watch her reap the benefits of it. I wanted to kill her.

And in the 75th Hunger Games, I got my chance. She went so far as to cheat the system, bring us all back into the games… and that was enough for me to go on. But then she killed my little brother with her golden arrow. Her golden bow.

And I tipped off the deep end I had so precariously balanced myself on. So much so that my vision, a blur of red haze, didn't register the axe flying towards my chest until it hit. Johanna had seen it coming.

But I didn't have time to realize what had happened before I was dead.


	4. Gloss

**District One**

**Gloss**

Jealousy was the only thing I felt as a child. Never love, never joy, never hope, and never pride. In my family Cashmere was the one they always looked to and loved. Everyone was captured under her spell, intoxicated by her every move.

I was disgusted by it all. The way they fell over her, drooling at her feet for no reason other than the fact that she happened to be remotely pretty. They would've felt that way about me, had she not been first born, first to make an impression.

Stuck in her shadow, trapped in her image, suffocated by her power. She wielded her knives for fun, anywhere at any time, constantly waiting for her moment to shine. And when it came she was flouncing around for months. I saw her name at the top of the list, shining in thick bold black print. The same last name as mine, and yet she was the one that stole the glory, entranced the crowd.

I watched her go, golden sash tied in a bow around her waist, the mark of a volunteer, chosen to bring pride to our district. My best friend was chosen to go in with her that year, Glorian. Sixteen like me and so full of promise.

At that point it wasn't hard for me to decide which one I wanted to come back. Whoever said blood was thicker than water?

I thought he had a chance, and Cashmere was inconsequential during those games, as I had trained all my attention on Glorian. He made it so far, to the final two. With my sister.

And I could do nothing but stare in horror as she found him in the night, slipping sleeping pills into his food. Then, she took his own dagger from his belt and stabbed him with it, a gleeful smile on her face.

Almost as wide as Glorian's had been when he smiled at her, way back at the reaping. Smiled at her because I told him to be friendly, death match or not. She was my sister, after all. And she repaid him by murdering him. A monster.

I never thought I would be able to look at her the same way again. When my name appeared at the top of the list in thick black print, I couldn't find it in me to tell her. Her face hardly shifted when I volunteered, though I know she hadn't been expecting it.

No matter. I wasn't doing it for her. I was doing it for Glorian. To do the one thing he never got the chance to. Because my sister stole it from him. She hadn't known she was going into the games with the boy that had been running around her house for years, as a toddler, then a kid, then a pre-teen, and finally a teenager.

Never and adult. But she couldn't make the connection between little boy Glorian and volunteer Glorian. And that's the only reason I didn't kill her the moment she stepped foot in District One again. I wanted to. I really did. Yet I refrained, throwing myself back into training with a new goal in mind.

When I was in my games I stopped for no one. The title was mine for the taking, I saw it so clearly in front of me. It was right there, and I reached for it, took it. There was no way I was letting it slip from my grasp.

And for a while it seemed as though things would never get better. Then Snow told me, told me the very thing that would ruin it all. He threatened to hurt Cashmere, to make it even more unbearable for her and I broke down.

The thought of such atrocities happening to her was enough to break me from the haze of anger I had been stuck in since she killed Glorian. Or maybe it started before that. Maybe I had always felt a resentment of sorts towards, because of all the things she had proved herself superior in.

Whatever it had been, it was gone. Gone but not forgotten.

Over the years we became closer, though I got the feeling she would always be the one in charge, the one with more power. Every night in the Capital she went her way and I went mine. We met up in the early morning hours at the training center, where we stayed during the off season, when there were no tributes. At first she just sat on the rooftop and cried. But eventually she got over it.

It went on like that for years, and there were points when I never thought it would end. Convincing myself there would be a time when I was old and no longer desirable was a near impossible feat as the appointments got longer and more frequent.

Then Katniss and Peeta appeared, almost as if from a dream. And they changed the rule. 'Cheated the system' as Cashmere put it. She hated them for it, for avoiding the one thing Snow had used to keep us in line.

I didn't agree. To me, there were an inspiration, a sign that the Capital could be broken. It was a victory for the lesser of the lesser, and for that I could never hate them.

But when we were called back for the games things changed. Cashmere's resentment grew worse, and she had harbored a bloodlust for them. She to be the one to kill two seventeen year old kids, one of them nothing short of a cripple.

It was then that I began to rethink my unfailing trust of my older sister. I had hated her for so many years of my life, and then put my life in her hands. Snow was a snake, and I had foolishly believed she was immune to his venom. But she had been poisoned by it, just like all the rest.

Tricked into thinking that Katniss and Peeta were the enemy. They were the exact opposite.

In the games I saw Wiress, another competitor blocking us from a rebellion. I had talked to Haymitch prior to the bloodbath, wishing to join the alliance. He said it would arouse too much suspicion. I resolved to join later, in hopes that Cashmere would also follow my lead.

Unfortunately, I hadn't known Wiress was part of the alliance. And the very girl I thought would save us all lodged an arrow in my temple before I had realized what I did wrong.

**A/N: Hi! So, I was originally going to make Gloss's character have the same feelings about Katniss and Peeta that Cashmere did. But the actor who will be playing Gloss in the movie (Alan Ritchson) is one of my older brother's favorites. He's on some TV show? And he saw what I was writing. Then he proclaimed that, "Gloss is a straight up G" (what does that mean?) because Alan Ritchson will portray him. So I was influenced to change Gloss's feelings on the matter. That was a totally pointless thing to put in my Author's Note, but I did anyway. Have a nice day, and if you have any thoughts on the story, or my brother's feelings about Gloss feel free to say so. :) Thanks- Knifethrower**


	5. Cato

**District Two**

_**Cato**_

Love was the only thing I had to cling to. Training was a requirement, something that had been passed down through my family for generations. Never an outlet, never a source of comfort and pride.

I was supposed to volunteer for the games at eighteen. But I left it all behind for Maisie. She was the light to a world of eternal darkness for me, and though my parents would never allow it, I loved her anyways.

I loved everything about her, from her dark blue eyes that sparkled like winking diamonds to her fiery red hair, set ablaze by passion and creativity. But what I loved most was the fact that she did not train. Not ever. She was as pure as the sweetest water flowing through the streams.

When I told my parents I loved her, at just a mere sixteen, they kicked me out. And I went from the merchant's sun, to a dirt poor boy with someone else to take care of. But I loved her, and nothing would ever change that.

My older brother Adonis took us in, though we couldn't stay long, for he had a wife with a child on the way. My soon to be nephew.

Things got better when I started making some ends meet, and finally had enough money to build us a small wooden house on the outskirts of town. It was on our first night there, at seventeen years old, that I proposed.

The moment seemed right to me, with a golden harvest moon outside, and a soft fire lighting the wood work around us up with dancing shadows. She had accepted, and in that moment I could see nothing but a bright future.

The wedding was planned, invitations sent out, dresses order. We were going to invest nearly every penny we had into making it as special as possible.

But one winter night, when the wind was especially loud, the snow especially cold, I was walking home in my tattered overalls, feet crunching in the snow, thinking of how glorious our wedding would be. I arrived home, cheeks tinged red and fingers numb to find my dearest Maisie coughing up blood.

I immediately took her to my brother and his wife, carrying her three miles through the storm, for they ran the local apothecary. They checked her out for free, telling me to leave her there and wait it out. I would do no such thing.

For three weeks I sat by her bedside, fingers clenched in her own paling ones as she got worse and worse. Herbal remedies were useless, and my brother's wife Molly was eventually forced to break into her precious supply of Capital medicine. But even that was no good.

Another month passed, then another, and the trees bloomed once more. I had my eighteenth birthday party in the quarantined section of Adonis and Molly's shop. They eventually ran out of medicine, and I was forced to abandon all wedding plans in, using our money to help pay for new medicine shipments instead.

Maisie's family had no interest in her illness, only her sister ever bothering to visit. Clove was two years younger than Maisie and I, and perhaps the complete opposite. She had dark brown eyes and long raven colored hair. Maisie was tall and willowy, nearly three inches shorter than me, whereas Clove was short and muscular, almost a foot shorter than me. When she wasn't visiting her sister she was in the training center, wielding her knives as an outlet.

And she was good, maybe one of the best I'd ever seen. In some ways, it scared me. I was afraid she'd get ideas. Ideas like mine.

When Molly broke the news that Maisie would die if she didn't receive the proper treatment from the Capital it nearly killed me. It was fatal. This virus, sickness she had caught so suddenly and out of nowhere would kill her, unless we could somehow afford an expensive treatment from the Capital.

It would take a lifetime for me to even start making a dent in the fee, and I only had a matter of months to do something radical. That was when I began training again. I threw myself into it with a new vigor and resolve, spending every waking moment I was away from Maisie with a sword in hand, just like I used to as a child.

She could no longer talk, as her throat had swelled to the point where every sound she made was unbearable and excruciating. But she could still stare, straight into my eyes, and I knew that with each penetrating look came an internal judgment. She knew what I was thinking when I arrived at my surrogate home in the quarantined section sweaty and cut up.

Unfortunately, Clove didn't. We waved in passing at the training center each day, always heading to separate stations on opposite sides of the gym. I saw her sometimes, breathing heavily and looking dejected as each strain on her muscles grew worse, each new burden sucking the life out of her.

Maisie was sick, and she wasn't only killing herself.

When my trainer pronounced me top of my class I graciously signed my name at the top of the list. But I couldn't bring myself to tell Maisie or Clove. It would be a struggle for me to win, I knew that, but I was at the peak of my physical fitness. Mind frame however, was shaky. But I was out of options.

I could back out of volunteering until the day of the reaping, when it was set in stone. The penalty for refusing to volunteer on the day of the reaping was death. They didn't want a chicken going into the games, so they gave you until midnight on the reaping's eve to back out- no harm done. Plenty of people had done it before. But no one could make a fool out of them. If you decided you didn't want to go in the day of you were signed to a death sentence either way. Might as well go in and fight for your right to live, instead of giving it up out of fear. Still, I had no reservations about it, other than the fact that my death could be just around the corner. That was hardly the real concern: for Maisie I would do anything.

So would Clove. The day of came, and I had been too concerned with caring for my ailed fiancée to check the volunteer list. It appears my dear sister-in-law- to- be hadn't had the forethought either. And just like that, we were doomed.

When she volunteered my heart plummeted to the bottom of my chest like a cinder block had been tied around it. She looked so small up there, standing with a wicked grin on her face. I could see the pain she was trying so hard to hide seeping through the cracks in her bravado. And then it was my turn. Locked in a contract, I could do nothing but take my given place beside her, hoping I looked menacing enough to pass for a traditional career.

It took everything I had to keep a cool, collected façade when the fact that Maisie was somewhere in the back of the crowd, surrounded by a transparent sheet, was watching it all unfold. In that moment I knew I would never see her again. How could I, when it would condemn her sixteen year old sister to death?

It was a new kind of torture, one I hoped I never got to see the aftereffects of. I sat in that room, waiting as Adonis came. He leaned on the door, and for a moment we could do nothing but stare, brother to brother, before he swept me into his arms.

My brain was bombarded with memories of childhood. Fighting with wooden swords in the backyard, my first day in the training center, a small black dog my father had gotten us on my third birthday, Adonis being pronounced top of his class in the training center, but turning it down to marry the healer's daughter. Learning to give life instead of take it. My mother crying during the simple ceremony, in the very same backyard I had played in for years.

And then Adonis pulled away, wiping one stray tear from his cheek bone, wishing me good luck, asking me to come back and meet his son- not yet born-, then sweeping out the door. The last I would see of him, ever. Molly came and repeated what my brother had, though there were more tears and a swollen stomach in the middle of our hug, before she was gone too.

There was another knock. The door creaked open. And there was my mother. She looked at me, and I knew she saw someone much bigger than the last time I'd seen her, at sixteen years old. Then she burst into tears and ran from the room.

Maisie was wheeled in last. She could do nothing but try and fail to touch my cheek, her hand bring on too much pain to move, stare into my eyes, and let her tears fall silently. Then, she mimed the words "I love you" before her three minutes were up and she was gone like all the rest. I kissed her chapped blue lips as they wheeled her away, finally allowing a lone tear to fall.

The weeks that followed were hell. First Katniss and Peeta Mellark showed up, nearly making the entire games there's for the taking. It wasn't their charade I had a problem with, though Clove seemed deeply disturbed by it, rather the way no one wanted them to die. There were others in there too, like Marvel and Thresh and the tiny little girl named Rue. All completely capable of making it.

But they were too invested in their 'star crossed lovers' to notice. Clove griped one stormy night, when it was just the two of us left, saying that if her sister hadn't gotten sick Maisie and I would've been the star crossed lovers. I rebuffed her, saying that if Maisie hadn't gotten sick I would be happily married and nowhere near the arena. You would be too, I told her. I was answered with silence.

"I might've considered going in when I got older. Duncan is," She said after a moment, referring to her boyfriend back in two. I had clutched my sleeping bag tighter and shivered into the tampered night air, thinking of a life I would never have.

The next morning I was dispatched to find Thresh and block him from getting to the feast, while Clove got our packs and took care of the other tributes. After a half hour of begging I relented, telling her that if she found Katniss she could attack, so long as she didn't put herself at risk.

Of course, I should've known better. By the time I got there Thresh and Katniss were disappearing at the edges of the field, and Clove was on the ground, her head bashed in by a rock. I had heard her screams from a while away, but by the time I got there she was beyond saving. "Win," she whispered with her very last breaths, hand clutched so tight around mine our knuckles were white and bloodless, "save Maisie. Save yourself."

I promised her I would. And for a few days I thought this would be true. The girl from five was killed, presumable by Katniss and Peeta, and I managed to find Thresh, eliminating him as well. It wasn't until I was strangling Peeta on the cornucopia that my resolve failed.

Looking past Katniss, to the mutts was what did me in. I felt a strange tingling on my hand, almost like someone was tracing patterns across it. But I was too far gone to care. Because there, snapping at my heels and growling ferociously at me, was a tiny raven haired wolf with a 2 on its collar. The last glimpse of Clove I would ever behold.

Because the next thing I knew I had an arrow in my hand, an elbow in my chest, and a ground on my back. Then, the mutts attack. And my spirit died, long before the arrow pierced my skull, releasing my body as well.


	6. Clove

**District Two**

_**Clove**_

All I ever had was my sister. Well, her and my favorite knife- curved with a fat, wide handle and comfortable gel grips. Like Maisie before me, I had never really seen training as a necessity- despite our district's values- and while some part of me, like any other child, desperately wanted to fit in, I always had her to talk me out of it.

Life was good- my parents were happy, we had food on our table, and health always seemed to keep with us. It wasn't until I turned eight, and other kids began shooting up like weeds from their hearty diets and extensive training sessions, that I began to face actual problems.

It had never been a problem for Maisie because she had always been tall and lean, but I seemed shrimpy and malnourished compared to her. It wasn't for lack of food- we had plenty- or the absence of exercise, I couldn't tell you how many hours we spent tirelessly circulating the trails that wound through the woods.

The fact was, I was a tiny child. And that made me a target. _Look at little Clover, doesn't even train. What's the use of even bother to live if she's not going to train? Oh, I know! She'll just pick her little four leaf clovers and eat them! Maybe it'll help her grow. _

There taunts weren't exceptionally clever, District two is known for its brutality and never ending flow of massive tributes ready to brandish their weapons- not brains, but at eight years old it was enough to send me over the edge.

I stopped talking to Maisie for months, daring to leave the room whenever she entered and slamming my bedroom door especially hard if she tried to follow. She finally worked up the nerve to pin me to the living room floor and demand to know what my problem was, and while she wasn't particularly strong my size made me fairly easy to bring down.

I screamed ruthlessly at her for hours but she never relented, and I knew I had been beat. I felt a sort of hopelessness wash over me as I writhed thrashed in her grasp, only going so far as to spit in her face when I saw no other options. She recoiled in shock, easily twisting my wrist behind my back.

"Tell me!" She howled, though I could hear the tears in her voice. "Tell me what I did wrong, please!"

And I did. I told her everything. How mean they were, the fights that weren't really fights at all- I had no way of really participating, it was more them packing punch after punch into me-, and how it was all because of her, because she told me not to train.

She didn't speak for a moment, rather peeled back my turtle neck and wiped away the makeup I had found in our mother's bedroom to see the bruises. Pressing her fingers to my split lip, I could tell she no longer believed me story of tripping and falling.

The next day she enrolled me in training. And the only thing I could do was knife throwing. But that didn't matter, because I became good- very good. I was able to pretend that every target I hit was another one of my childhood bullies; dying at my hand, my knife.

It worked. And I was never picked on again, for they had all seen me in the training center- wielding knives like they were extensions of my hands. Maisie always accompanied me, though she never touched her finger to a weapon.

Rather she sat on the mats in the corner, watching me with an almost proud smile. Though sometimes I caught her eyes drifting to a blonde haired boy in the sword section, and while she would never admit it, I knew she liked him.

After a few months of watching him nervously glance back when he thought she wasn't looking, I finally brought it up one night. We were sitting in her bedroom, and she was weaving her hands through my hair, forcing it into an intricate braid. "Who's the boy?" I asked.

She didn't need to ask which one I meant. All she said was, "A friend."

But I knew he was so much more.

And not a year later he was professing his love for her, and they were both kicked out by their parents. I didn't see her much after that, and I couldn't help but loathe my parents for doing that to her.

It's not like she had ever been troublesome- rather in love. I was surprised when a wedding invitation appeared on my doorstep- addressed solely to me- one fall evening. After that I often made the long trek to their wooden cabin to help plan for the wedding.

Maid of Honor, an old tradition in our District, would be bestowed to me.

We were so immersed in our joy that when Molly from the Apothecary, also my sister's fiancé's brother's wife, knocked on the door one winter's night telling me that Maisie had taken ill I was in shock. Even more so when I learned it was fatal.

In the months that followed I could hardly look at my parents, who never even bothered to visit her. Cato had thrown himself back into training, and I took that as my queue to do so as well. It helped for a little while. But the bills kept piling up, and I became so desperate that I could do nothing but sign up for the Hunger Games. I couldn't bring myself to tell Cato- though I wish I had.

But I didn't, and we both ended up in the games. However, that wasn't what did me in, nor was it carelessness or cockiness.

It was pinning Katniss to the ground, realizing I had the strength to do so, and preparing to kill her. In that moment I remembered Maisie when she was ten years old- healthy and a part of my family- wrestling me to carpet in search of answers.

She looked up at me, such hopelessness in her eyes. And I could remember that feeling, remember that despair. It was what made me brandish a weapon in the first place.

Then, she spit. Straight into my face. And I nearly just killed myself. What was I doing anyhow? She was in the same situation I had been in, and I realized that I had more in common with her than I thought. I was once the underdog, and now she was too. And I knew I couldn't let her feel that, for the same reason that Maisie accompanied me to the training center every day- though she hated every single part of it.

Guilt.

So when Thresh came, pulled me to my feet –stone in hand- I dropped my knife. I dropped it, and let it happen. Calling for Cato's was merely a way to alert him to the inevitable, and secretly I was hoping that it would catch Maisie's attention –if she was watching back home- so she would know to tune in too.

When he arrived I told him to win, because he had to, or else all three of us would die. He promised me he would.

And I unfailingly believed him.


End file.
